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NINE FE H 



AND 



OTHER POEMS 



NINEVEH 



AND 



OTHER 
POEMS 



BY 

GEORGE SYLVESTER 
VIERECK 



NEW YORK 

MOFFAT, YARD & COMPANY 

1907 



LIBRAHY of CONGRESS 
Two C»D»es Rectived 
MAY 7 1907 
lepynftrt Entry 

ClASS ^Cl XXc, No. 



7^ 



J 2^ / ^ ^ 

COPY B. 






Copyright, 1907, by 

MOFFAT, YARD & COMPANY 
New York 



Published April, 19(fi 

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED 



To 
Richard L,e Gallienne 



NOTE 

The author desires to express his obligation 
to his frieiids, Mr. William Ellery Leonard and 
Mr. Ludwig Lewisohn^ for their permission to 
reprint in the present collection their respective 
versions of * ^ Priiice Carjiival ' * a7td ' The Scar- 
let Flower. ' ' Nor can he send forth this book 
without a word of gratitude to his other friends ^ 
especially Mrs. Els a Barker, Mr. A. I. du P. 
Coleman and Mr. Richard Le Gallienne , for help- 
ful suggestio7i and geiierous assistance. 



CONTENTS 



SALUTATION 

The Suppliant .... 3 

Prayer . . . . .4 

Premonition . . . . .5 



NINEVEH 

The Empire City . . • . ii 

Nineveh ..... i5 



THE BOOK OF IDOLS 

To * * * . . . . .33 

The Dumb Idol .... 34 

Kakodaimon . . . . .38 

Prince Carnival .... 40 

The Smile of the Sphinx . . .42 

When Idols Fall .... 47 

The Sphinx . . . . .50 



A BALLAD OF SIN . . . .57 



CONTENTS 



GOLGOTHA 



Confession 

Provocatio Ad Maria m 
Before the Cross 



65 
67 
69 



THE GARDEN OF PASSION 



Spring .... 


7Z 


A Spring Blessing 


• 75 


Love's Silence 


78 


Redeemed .... 


• 79 


Love Triumphant 


81 


Sunset ..... 


. 84 


The Scarlet Flower 


85 


Mr. W. H. . . ' . 


. 87 


For Antinous in His Old Age 


88 


To Sleep .... 


. 89 


Prayer of Souls in Need . 


90 


Resurrection 


. 91 


The Ballad of Nun and Knight . 


92 


Love in Dreamland 


. 94 


Friendship 


96 


Wasted Songs .... 


. 97 


Lord Eros .... 


98 


At Cross-Roads 


. 99 


Autumn .... 


too 


Love Cruel .... 


. 102 


Silentium Poet^ 


103 


The Last Chord 


. 104 


A Leave Taking 


105 



CONTENTS xi 

THE GARDEN OF PASSION {Continued) 

Southern Summer .... io6 

Love's Quest ..... 107 

IN THE AGORA 

To A Defeated Candidate . . .111 

Heine IN New York . . . .112 

The New Colossus in 1907 . . .113 

MALE AND FEMALE CREATED HE 
THEM 

AlOGYNE . . . . .117 

AiANDER . . . . .121 



THE MAGIC CITY 

A Poet's Creed . . . .127 

To Swinburne . . . .128 

Charles Baudelaire . . . 129 

The Poet . . . . .131 

Consolation .... 132 

Hadrian . . . . .133 

Art .... . .137 

The Magic City .... 142 

THE HAUNTED HOUSE . , .149 

THE THREE SPHINXES . . .153 



PREFACE 

The spkndid heritage of two languages has 
fallen to me from a German father and an 
American mother. My ears have listened to the 
music of two worlds. Many of the poems In 
the present collection were written In the lan- 
guage In which they are here presented. Oth- 
ers were originally composed In German and 
rewritten In English. The latter are as metals 
transmuted by verbal alchemy and, with the ex- 
ception of two, In no sense translations. I can- 
not, therefore, claim, for any part of my work, 
the Indulgence commonly granted to painstak- 
ing translators by benevolent critics. Each of 
my poems must be judged by whatever intrinsic 
value it may possess. It must also be judged as 
a whole. It must not be viewed from one nar- 
row angle of vision — moral, aesthetic, or philo- 
sophic. The truth, I take It, has many sides. 
Art, like life, is Janus-faced. In fact, it has 
many faces. The hopelessly Puritanical attitude 
which has found Its most characteristic utterance, 
xiii 



xiv PREFACE 

and — It was to be hoped — its extinction, in the 
pitiful voice of Robert Buchanan, Is no more 
absurd than the affectation of those who, pro- 
claiming their disclpleship to art for art's sake, 
in reality crown pose with the diadem of emo- 
tion, and upon the throne of beauty set technique. 
The question arises: Is there any positive test 
of literary achievement? Matthew Arnold's 
definitions, set forth in his introduction to 
Ward's "English Poets," are suggestive, if un- 
satisfactory. In every poet's work we discover 
single poems, which, by common consent, out- 
shine their companions without necessarily ex- 
celling In earnestness of purpose or verbal 
beauty, rhythmic splendour or originality of con- 
ception. They throb with a mysterious vitality 
which, while it may elude definition, Is unmis- 
takably felt. Arnold's "touch-stones" of poetry 
fall under this category; likewise Leigh Hunt's 
"Jenny Kissed Me," Rossetti's "Blessed Damo- 
zel," Markham's "Man with the Hoe," Poe's 
"Raven," and Oscar Wilde's "Ballad of Read- 
ing Gaol." I have purposely chosen dissimilar 
examples. The pieces have, however, one qual- 
ity In common, which, for lack of a better name, 
I should like to term finality of expression. That 
Is, they solve without a remainder the equation 
between thought and utterance. They express. 



PREFACE XV 

with supreme aptitude, finally and for all time, 
some mundane experience, some note in the in- 
finite scale. No latter poet can add to them, or 
detract. Their impressiveness is enduring, their 
vitality ultimate. The measure of a poet's art 
is the frequency with which he attains or, at 
least, approaches finality of expression. 

Form and content in poetry are co-ordinate. 
In order to achieve finality it is essential that 
the metric coat shall fit exactly. Existing conven- 
tional forms, like ready-made garments, may at 
times fulfil the requirements; frequently they 
will not. It then behooves a poet to modify 
them or, better still, to create new forms inti- 
mately adapted to the exigencies of the occasion. 
Though the instinctive sureness of Milton's 
touch enabled him to set aside traditional restric- 
tions, the eighteenth century crushed freedom 
within form so effectually that, in spite of the 
romantic revival, our poets have not, as a rule, 
followed in his steps. Thought is now stretched 
out, now mangled upon the Procrustean bed of 
conventional music. Men have forgotten that 
rhyme and metre are only means to an end. In 
art, at least, the end justifies the means. The 
poet's ear, not the number of feet, Is the plenl- 
potent arbiter of form, and the melodious Im- 
pressiveness of a poem as a whole, the final cri- 



xvi. PREFACE 

terion of poetic technique. The poet of the future 
will be an impressionist. By unheard-of devices 
he will wrest new music from the language, and 
raise a crop of roses from gardens hitherto neg- 
lected and sterile. He will also utilise, not re- 
pudiate, the resources already at hand, and put 
to a nobler and broader application the sonant 
heirloom of the past. It is the freedom of Pindar 
for which I plead, not the freedom of Whitman. 
I plead for this freedom, not only in the ode, but 
in all poetry. Thus form will not be overthrown, 
but more firmly and exquisitely established. Not 
the line or stanza, but the whole poem will be 
the unit of the new poetry, and each poem will 
possess a rhythmic individuality unique to itself. 
In the majority of my own poems I made con- 
cession to time-honoured canons. Then, instinc- 
tively, at first, I began to strive for a rhythmic 
speech more flexible, and, if possible, more mu- 
sical. In ''A Ballad of Sin" and "The Smile of 
the Sphinx" I was groping for the new form. 
In *'Kakodaimon" I came nearer to it, and in 
^'A Spring Blessing," "Art," "The Magic City" 
and "The Three Sphinxes" my efforts are most 
consciously directed and most fully developed. If 
I am right, I have extended the borderland of 
poetry into the domain of music on the one side, 
into that of the intellect on the other. The new 



PREFACE 



XVll. 



form, new in that it has never before been con- 
sciously applied, brings into play hidden possi- 
bilities of speech, and enables the authentic poet 
to multiply rhymes and rhythmic effects without 
straining the sense. The lyre, henceforth obey- 
ing only a master-hand, will slip from the grasp 
of the tyro, and poetry become once more the 
vehicle of great thought. The lyrist who fully 
adopts the new form and its practically limitless 
resources will accomplish for poetry what Wag- 
ner has accomplished for music. Along the lines 
here indicated lies the poetry of to-morrow. 

George Sylvester Viereck. 



SALUTATION 



THE SUPPLIANT 

Beyond the sea a land of heroes lies, 

Of fairy heaths and rivers, mountains steep, 
O'ergrown with vine — her memory I shall 
keep 

Most dear^ her heritage most dearly prize. 

But lo, a lad, I left her, and mine eyes 
Fell on the sea-girt mistress of the deep, 
What time my hoy^s heart heard as in a sleep 

The choral walls of rhythmic beauty rise, 

O lyric England, thee I call mine own; 

With lyre and lute and wreath I come to 

thee; 
The realm is thine of song and of the sea. 
And thy mouth^s speech is heard from zone to 
zone: 
Turn not in scorn thine ivied brow from me. 
Who am a suppliant kneeling at thy throne! 



PRAYER 

/ stood upon the threshold; musical 

Reverberant footsteps ghostlike came and 

went, 
And my lips trembled as magnificent 

' Before me rose a vision of that hall 

Whereof great Milton is the mighty wall, 
Shakespeare the dome with incense redolent, 
Each latter singer precious ornament, 

And Holy Writ the groundwork, bearing all. 

**Lord'^ sobbed I, ''take Thy splendid gift of 
youth 
For the one boon that I have craved so long: 
Mould Thou my stammering accents and un- 
couth, 
With awful music raise and make rne strong; 
A living martyr of Thy vocal truth, 

A resonant column in the House of SongP' 



AND OTHER POEMS 



PREMONITION 

This ts my singing season, and the dearth 
Of music ended; I am pregnant thus 
With sound and colour, and melodious 

Mine unborn poems clamour after birth. 

Perchance, arising from the tuneless earth 
To bring sweet gifts of cadence unto us, 
Some vocal brother to Theocritus 

Inspires my lips with his diviner worth. 

Or yet, some ghostly elder singer* s breath 
Is floating to me, and strange voices ring 

On my soul's ear with sound that quickeneth: 
^^Build now or never,** say they, and they 
bring 

The premonition of an early death 

That bids me hasten with my harvesting. 



NINEVEH 



PRELUDE 



AND OTHER POEMS 



THE EMPIRE CITY 

Huge steel-ribbed monsters rise Into the air 
Her Babylonian towers, while on high 
Like gilt-scaled serpents glide the swift trains 

by, 

Or, underfoot, creep to their secret lair. 

A thousand lights are jewels in her hair, 
The sea her girdle, and her crown the sky, 
Her life-blood throbs, the fevered pulses fly, 

I Immense, defiant, breathless she stands there 

And ever listens in the ceaseless din, 

Waiting for him, her lover who shall come, 
Whose singing lips shall boldly claim their 
own 
x^nd render sonant what in her was dumb : 
The splendour and the madness and the sin. 

Her dreams in iron and her thoughts of 
stone. 



II 



NINEVEH 

O Nineveh, thy realm Is set 
Upon a base of rock and steel 

From where the under-rlvers fret 
High up to where the planets reel. 

Clad In a blazing coat of mall, 

Above the gables of the town 
Huge dragons with a monstrous trail 

Have pillared pathways up and down. 

And In the bowels of the deep 

Where no man sees the gladdening sun. 
All night without the balm of sleep 

The human tide rolls on and on. 



15 



1 6 NINEVEH 



The Hudson's mighty waters lave 
In stern caress thy granite shore, 

And to thy port the sal*: sea wave 
Brings oil and wine and precious ore. 

Yet If the ocean In Its might 

Should rise confounding stream and bay, 
The stain of one delirious night 

Not all the tides can wash away. 



AND OTHER POEMS 17 

Thick pours the smoke of thousand fires, 
Life throbs and beats relentlessly — 

But lo, above the stately spires 
Two lemans : Death and Leprosy. 

What fruit shall spring from such embrace? 

Ah, even thou wouldst quake to hear ! 
He bends to kiss her loathsome face, 

She laughs — and whispers in his ear. 

Sit not too proudly on thy throne, 
Think on thy sisters, them that fell; 

Not all the hosts of Babylon 

Could save her from the jaws of hell. 



II 



Through the long alleys of the park 
On noiseless wheels and delicate springs, 

Glide painted women fair and dark, 

Bedecked with silks and jewelled things. 

In peacock splendour goes the rout 

With shrill, loud laughter of the mad — 

Red lips to suck thy life-blood out, 
And eyes too weary to be sad! 

Their feet go down to shameful death. 
They flaunt the livery of their wrong. 

Their beauty is of Ashtoreth, 

Her strength it is that makes them strong. 



21 



22 NINEVEH 



Behold thy virgin daughters, how 

They know the smile a wanton wears ; 

And oh ! on many a boyish brow 

The blood-red brand of murder flares. 



AND OTHER POEMS 23 

See, through the crowded streets they fly, 
Like doves before the gathering storm. 

They cannot rest, for ceaselessly 

In every heart there dwells a worm. 

They sing in mimic joy, and crown 
Their temples to the flutes of sin; 

But no sweet noise shall ever drown 
The whisper of the worm within. 



24 NINEVEH 

They revel In the gilded line 

Of lampllt halls to charm the night, 
But think you that the crimson wine 

Can veil the horror from theit- sight? 

Ah, no — their staring eyes are led 
To where it lurks with hideous leer: 

Therefore the women flush so red, 
And all the men are white with fear. 



AND OTHER POEMS 25 

As in a mansion vowed to lust, 

Where wantons with their guests make free, 
'Tis thus thou humblest in the dust 

Thy queenly body, Nineveh! 

Thy course is downward; 'tis the road 
To sins that even where disgrace 

And shameful pleasure walk abroad 
Dare not unmask their shrouded face 1 

Surely at last shall come the day 
When these that dance so merrily 

Shall watch with terrible faces gray 
Thy doom draw near, O Nineveh I 



Ill 



I, too, the fatal harvest gained 

Of them that sow with seed of fire 

In passion's garden — I have drained 
The goblet of thy sick desire. 

I from thy love had bitter bliss, 
And ever in my memory stir 

The after-savours of thy kiss — 
The taste of aloes and of myrrh. 

And yet I love thee, love unblessed 
The poison of thy wanton's art ; 

Though thou be sister to the Pest 
In thy great hands I lay my heart I 

And when thy body Titan-strong 
Writhes on its giant couch of sin. 

Yea, though upon the trembling throng 
The very vault of Heaven fall in ; 

And though the palace of thy feasts 
Sink crumbling In a fiery sea — 

I, like the last of Baal's priests, 
Will share thy doom, O Nineveh. 



29 



THE BOOK OF IDOLS 



TO 



The flowers I plucked, with youthful freedom 
straying 

Through fields with dreamy poppies sown, 
I bring, a priest sad scornful homage paying 

Before an idol-throne ! 

If careless you should please to turn the pages 
In which my soul its growth can trace, 

'Twill bring, the memory of those early stages, 
A smile across your face. 

And if some day the shadows come to linger, 
And care press down your diadem. 

Bethink you sometimes of the boyish singer 
That kissed your mantle's hem. 

You took my all when youth was free for 
roving, 

Youth that so short a space endures: 
Then take these gifts of hating and of loving. 

These songs — for they are yours ! 



33 



34 NINEVEH 

THE DUMB IDOL 

". . . . Upon a golden throne sate a gleam- 
ing idoL And it had a soul , . . But those 
who came thither knew it not. And they 
were not to know it. For it was the awful 
punishment of this dumb idol that it had a 
soul and might not reveal it, if it would not 
suffer the torments of the lost. Then both 
Heaven and Hell lamented its immeasur- 
able sorrow which neither could assuage, 
because it was too deep for the light and 
too deep for the darkness!* 

— Old Legend. 



Far, far away, within a lonely vale 

There stands a temple old — so old and gray, 

Unwarmed by rays of sunshine; only pale 
Cold moonbeams o'er it play. 

Yet nearer draw and see what crimson flood 
Of light streams through the windows : never 
rose 

Could flush so deep a red, but that high Blood 
For sin that ever flows. 



AND OTHER POEMS 35 

Around the altar, deep In silent prayer, 
The faithful kneel beside the ivory shrine 

That still enfolds, with all the ancient care, 
An Image once divine. 



A king draws near in purple robes of state, 
Bearing the sceptre of his sovereignty; 

A bishop comes, and all around him wait 
His priests full reverently. 

So as the years go by, they come to plead 
Before the altar, happier to return. 

But for the poor dumb Idol 'tis decreed 
No light of hope shall burn. 



It looks not down upon the kneeling throng; 

But from Its staring stony eyes there go 
Great waves of torturing anguish, not less 
strong 

For being silent woe. 



Ah, deeper woe than ever man has known, 
Ah, ceaseless longing that no sacrifice 

Ever assuages — there above the throne 
Poor pleading, helpless eyes I 



36 NINEVEH 

At times It seems the features cold and set 
Some gentler thought of passing hope would 
tell; 

And one could fancy that a tear made wet 
The cheeks immovable. 

Yet, clasped like some strange book of sorcery, 
Those lips can never speak. The curse must 
come 

That sterner godheads have pronounced on thee, 
Sad idol pale and dumb ! 

Full many a Christ has trod the long steep way 
Unto all souls God's mercy to impart; 

Surely the sad-eyed Nazarene shall lay 
His hand upon thy heart? 

His grace is shed abroad from rise of sun 
Unto the furthest islands of the west: 

Shalt thou, when all the healing work is done. 
Thou only, not be blest? 



Slow cycles roll against time's timeless reef, 
(The eyes of Mary shine with mercy mild I) 

But still the idol stands in silent grief, 
Helpless, unreconciled. 



AND OTHER POEMS 37 

Thus shall It wait, speechless for evermore, 
Until at last the fateful trumpet call, 

And all the lands and all the oceans o'er, 
The Dusk of Idols falll 



38 NINEVEH 

KAKODAIMON 

The mockery of thy lips adored, 
Thy lovely languid head 
Enwreathed with poppies red 
Is my loadstone : 
Because thou art cruel, therefore be my Lord, 
Kakodaimon ! 



Thy glorious body, unto me made known, 

Is like a stately fane of alabaster 
Where in procession, to thy praise alone, 
'Mid torches' glimmer and organ's pealing tone, 
Pass scarlet Sin, and Shame, and black 
Disaster, 
Kakodaimon ! 



Then blaze the windows bright 
With weird unearthly light; 
The outer throng fall prostrate at the sight. 
But guess not whence it is. 
Nor hear the scornful hiss 

Of thy contempt upon their offerings 

blown, 
Kakodaimon I 



AND OTHER POEMS 39 

Ah, but I know, and yet I have not gone — 
Stand boldly fronting this my destiny, 
That my reward must my damnation be. 
To wait in silence for the dread decree 

And find no mercy at Jehovah's throne, 
Kakodaimon I 

Thine is the blame If o'er my head shall roll 
His thunderous wrath: yet if one spake 

"Disown 
Thy love, or bid farewell to Mary's Son!" 
I should not grasp the priest's absolving stole. 
But, choosing, at thy worshipped feet lie 
prone, 
O splendid evil genius of my soul. 
Kakodaimon ! 



40 NINEVEH 

PRINCE CARNIVAL 

Jingling bells and cracking whip, 
Laughter and jest on every lip ! — 
Thou drew'st thy gorgeous mantle tight- 
But lo ! I marked and knew at sight. 

In all this dazzling mirth the best, 
A golden star upon thy breast, 
The kingly sceptre in thy hand, 
Thou gazest on thy fairyland. 

Yet as thou tak'st the golden wine, 
A glory round thy head will shine ; 
Then all will know along the hall 
That it is thou^ — Prince Carnival ! 



A shout goes up from row to row. 

The viols scrape and trumpets blow. 

The quick hand swings the whip with art- 

Thy laughter masters every heart. 

But as into thine eyes I peep, 
There looks on me a woe so deep — 
Unutterable and hidden all. 
Unhappy Prince of Carnival. 



AND OTHER POEMS 41 

*TIs but a mask, this jesting parti 
Mankind's eternal pain thou art ! 
Once in the year, like storm long pent, 
Forth bursts thy heart-sick merriment. 

An inward fire feverishly 
Tortures and goads the blood in thee, 
That on the moment thou dost forget 
How poor, how sick thy heart is yet. 

Therefore my heart it burns for thee, 
Thou beautiful prince of faery. 
And oh, my love, my Prince, is great — 
As boundless as impassionate. 

It is the deepest of all things 

How man unto his sorrow clings — 

His breast's own pain, supreme through all; 

So I love thee, Prince Carnival. 



42 NINEVEH 

THE SMILE OF THE SPHINX 

And one day of late a dream oppressed me . . . 
And In dreams through the long streets I 

wandered 
(Through the streets with many footsteps 

throbbing!) 
And a burden lay upon my heart, 
And my weary eyelids sadly quivered, 
And a sob rose choking In my throat, 
And the shadow of some rare disaster 
Weighed upon the houses of the town. 
And encircled by the sombre shadows, 
Sombre men with tortured faces walked 
(Pallid men with weary tortured faces!) 
Through the streets unending to and fro. 
Midnight sounded solemn from the tower, 
And the stillness trembled as It smote . . . 
Further went I on the wonted pathway 
Further . . . further . . through the dark- 
ling night. 
Dark foreboding seized upon my heart- 
strings ...'*' 
Yet no swifter would I tread the path, 
The appalling, vaguely-boded tidings 
Later, somewhat later, to discover. 
Nightly pilgrims of the monster-city 
Stared behind me dimly wondering. 



AND OTHER POEMS 43 

And a woman, dark of hair and feature, 
With the gleaming of rapacious teeth, 
And her scarlet feather ever nodding, 
Seemed to smile . . . 

Yet I went still onward, undeterred. 

Ever onward, ever, ever onward, 

Onward, onward through the darkling town. 

And at last I came where stands thy dwelling ; 
Ever slower grew my lagging footsteps, 
Ever slower . . . 

Then my eyes beheld the sombre hangings ; 
They beheld the heavy mourning symbol 
That men hang upon their dreary doorways 
When a dead man slumbers in the house . . . 

Slowly I ascended the steep stairway, 
Pressed upon the bell with trembling fingers, 
And the heart rose leaden in my throat. 

Footsteps . . . 

And a woman with sad tear-stained eyes 
(Pallid wom.an with sad tear-stained eyes!) 
Set thy door wide open at my summons. 
Neither spoke a word: I knew already 
What for me within the house was waiting. 



44 NINEVEH 

But she beckoned and I followed her. 
Slow and silent then the stairs we mounted, 
Till I stood before thy chamber door, 
Where a breath of incense and of roses 
Sweetly, sadly floated out to meet me, 
And an icy shudder filled my veins . . . 



On the bed half hid by fragrant blossoms, 

As in prayer thine hands so gently folded. 

Thou wast sleeping. Softly I came nearer 

One last kiss upon thy mouth to press. 

But upon thy pallid, silent features 

Was a smile ... a weird and ghostly smile, 

Was a pallid, a mysterious smile. 

Past explaining, strange as thou wert strange. 

And it seemed as though thou wouldst have 

spoken. 
Given the hidden meaning of the riddle 
That the riddle of thine own existence, 
That the riddle of all riddles is — 
When too soon the icy hand of Death 
Came and sealed for evermore thy lips. 
And the hour-hand of the quaint old timepiece 
That had vexed me with its solemn ticking 
When of old within the room I tarried 
Stood at twelve ... I shuddered . . . and I 

knew. 



AND OTHER POEMS 45 

But the pallid woman now was speaking 
(Ah, so pale, and eyes with grief so heavy!) 
Seeing how I stood in helpless sorrow: 
*Tes, at twelve it was . . . when failed the 

light, 
And throughout the house a tremour passed, 
And a dark and sorrow-bringing angel 
Stirred the heavy air with noiseless pinions, 
And I heard a long, despairing struggle, 
Then a fall (ah, dull and heavy fall!) . . , 
Then a cry ( ah, such a cry ! ) . . . And then 
Death, a shadow, brooded on the bed." 

And again I looked upon thy face. 

And again I saw the same mysterious 

Pallid smile upon thy quiet features, 

And remembered how one night of June 

I had seen it . . . flickering ... on thy lips. 

And anew I went into the night 
From the house bedraped with signs of mourn- 
ing, 
And the woman with the weary voice 
(Pallid woman with wan tearful eyelids!) 
And the clock, its hands at twelve arrested. 
And the bed where Death kept solemn vigil, 
And the couch upon which one lay dead 
Who was dear upon this earth to me. 



46 NINEVEH 

Ah, but still forever I am seeking 
For the answer to the darksome riddle, 
That Death's hand with icy touch has closed. 
And that now eternity keeps locked. 

And w^herever my sad footsteps wander, 
Evermore I see that pallid smile. 
See upon thy lips the hopeless riddle 
Past explaining, strange as thou wert strange. 
That the riddle of all riddles is 1 



AND OTHER POEMS 47 

WHEN IDOLS FALL 

Foul night-birds brood In fearsome throng 

About the path that I must tread: 
Thou art not what I thought thee long, 

And oh, I would that I were dead I 
Less bitter was the gall they ran 

To offer Christ upon the tree, 
Or the salt tears He shed for man, 

Deserted In Gethsemane. 

For thou wast all the god I had 

While months on months were born and died, 
Thy lips' sweet fragrance made me glad 

As holy bells at eventide. 
Aye, for thy sake, my god on earth, 

I joyed to suffer all I could. 
And counted as of lesser worth 

The chalice of the Saviour's blood! 

Entranced I knelt before thy shrine 

And filled love's chalice, I thy priest; 
With flowers as crimson as the wine 

I decked our altar for the feast. 
I gave thee more than love may give. 

First-fruits of song, truth, honour — all I 
Too much I loved thee : I must live 

To see God's awful justice fall. 



48 NINEVEH 

I bleed beneath a wound the years 

That heal all sorrow shall not heal; 
O barren waste, O fruitless tears! 

I gave thee mine eternal weal. 
My idol crumbled in the dust 

(Ah, that I lived that day to see!) 
There came a sudden piercing thrust, 

And all my life was dead in me! 



Thou spak'st a single hideous word, 

And that one word became the knoll 
Of all that made life dear, and blurred 

The lines of good within my soul. 
Better the plague-spots ringed me round. 

The hangman gave the fatal sign. 
Than that such monstrous word should sound 

From lips that once I held divine ! 



A veil of darkness hid the sun. 

Night fell, and stars from heaven were hurled, 
For when this fearful thing was done, 

It spelt the ruin of a world. 
The string whose music won my bays 

Snapped with a blinding thrill of pain; 
Through all the everlasting days 

I shall not hear its note again. 



AND OTHER POEMS 49 

Amidst the gloom I grope for song; 

The fires die out that passion fed: 
Thou art not what I thought thee long, 

And oh ! I would that I were dead! 
Yet worse than all the pain of loss, 

The smile that seals a traitor's will, 
Is this : that knowing gold for dross, 

I cannot choose but love thee still I 



50 NINEVEH 

THE SPHINX 
I 

Within a sultry deceit land, 

Where neither flowers nor shadows are, 
Hid to the breast in shifting sand 

There stands an image secular. 

Where Pharaoh's sceptre gave the laws, 
The thing that held me captive rests, 

Strange compound of a panther's claws 
And of a woman's rounded breasts. 

Thus stood she when the princess found 

The infant in his secret bed; 
Thus, when the young Bithynian wound 

The death-wreath for his golden head. 

And monarchs came with her to dwell 
On whom mad dreams had laid their ban, 

From whose imperial shoulders fell 
The purple cloak of Hadrian. 



AND OTHER POEMS 51 



II 



O strange beyond the strangest fears 
And hopes and ancient questionings, 

That I who am so young In years 

Have loved the oldest of all things! 



52 NINEVEH 



III 



Ah, fount of pleasure salt with tears, 
Storehouse of cunning, well of guile ! 

Love of my boyhood's troubled years, 
Gray silent Sphinx beside the Nile I 

No hoard of silver I possessed. 

No purple brought from Tyrian mart, 

So, as love's guerdon, from my breast 
With fevered hand I tore the heart. 

Thy granite flanks upon the gift 
Closed with a mighty fluttering. 

Then first within thee rose the swift 
Pulsation of a living thing. 

And I forgot beneath thy spell 

Mine was the life within thee grown, 

And mine the heart that leapt and fell 
Illusory in thy breast of stone. 

Mine was the folly, mine the tears 
That wept the ending of my dream. 

Love of my boyhood's troubled years. 
Gray silent Sphinx beside the stream ! 



AND OTHER POEMS 53 



IV 



O wanderer, stay where life Is sweet, 
And jubilant earth is glad of May, 

Disturb not with incautious feet 
The mystery of an elder day. 

When we have sighed to fold our hands 
And join the Pharaohs in the tomb. 

She still shall stare across the sands 
And hearken for the crack of doom! 



A BALLAD OF SIN 



A BALLAD OF SIN 

In dreams on a far-off shore I lay 

(Dreams that were full of dread), 
Where the purple clouds of a dying day 

Shadowed a sea of red — 
Shadowed a sea as red as the blood 
Of one that was slain In his lustlhood, 
A sea as red as a lover's blood 
Struck down in his amorous lustlhood. 

A silver shallop glides to and fro, 

Over the ghostly crimson sea, 

(Over the ghostly crimson sea 
I watch Its oars as they come and go) ; 
The wavelets quiver and gleam : 

No sounds are there that the silence break, 

But astern in the shallop's silvery wake 
Strange circles swirl in the stream. 

The moon shines down on the ghostly night. 
But pale and dim is Its faint, far light. 
And now to the Island the boat draws near 

(My veins run cold with fear!). 
And the shadows spring to the magic shore^ — 
57 



58 NINEVEH 

For each has known of a bliss before, 
A sinful, sorrowful bliss before. 

Of God and of man forbidden; 
And each Is wrapped In a robe of state, 
These In the moonlight that come so late 
(Where the quivering, shivering moonbeams 
mate) 

To their tryst on the Island hidden. 

Go further Into the mystic shore 

And see a castle rise, 

A spirlt-castle rise, 
And a flood of light from the windows pour, 
From all the shimmering windows pour, 

And colour the moonlit skies ; 

And hark to the magic melodies 

(The ringing, singing melodies) 
That float o'er the waves as red as the blood 
Of a lover slain In his lustlhood. 

The song goes deep to the Inmost soul — 
Its notes o'er the silent waters roll 

In the heavy languorous pleading 
Of a wanton will to which the grave 
Never a moment of respite gave 

And hearts that with love are bleeding. 
(O ancient song of passionate dole. 
Whose notes o'er the silent waters roll 

In heavy languorous pleading!) 



AND OTHER POEMS 59 

I am drawn by Its might (there is none to save !) 

To the midst of the castle hall; 
And there, escaped from the cold, cold grave, 

Sin holds Its bacchanal 
(Aye, there, escaped from the cold, cold grave, 

Lust holds Its bacchanal) — 
And 'neath the flickering candle-light 
The dance of the shadows has reached its 
height ! 

They must renew, as the midnight chimes, 

The kisses that a thousand times, 

A thousand times and in far-off climes, 

Have died on their lips enchanted: 
The flowers that gleam In their tossing hair 
Are painted like flowers that otherwhere 
(Thousand times and In far-off climes) 

Long ages ago were planted. 
Heaven had no hand In the pageantry 
Of the wondrous scene that was shown to me ! 



With songs of pleasure they tread the measure, 

That throng so pale and wan — 
These that of old for sinful pleasure 

Through the gates of hell have gone. 
Yet tossed forever on passion's flood 
Come sailing over the sea of blood. 



6o NINEVEH 

The queen of Egypt there I saw, 
Tiberius and Caligula, 

In silks and purples flaunting; 
Aholibah, Alaciel, 
And she whose love came straight from hell 

Were there, and boldly vaunting 
Her skill in transport lubricous. 
The shameless wife of Claudius. 

With bliss that Is bitter, pain that is sweet 

Shudders each ghostly form, 
And stirred alone by their flying feet 

The scented air grows warm. 
Madly the dancers revel and sway 
In the dazzling colours that round them play. 

The fire that heaven has kindled dies 

When the joys of sight from the straining eyes 

Death's endless night shall sever; 
All vainly mounts the aspiring flame. 
Each love that has a noble aim 

Bears death at its heart forever; 
And only the love that flaunts in red 
Lives on when all things else are dead. 



AND OTHER POEMS 6i 

For only the love that flaunts in red 

A shadow of bliss can save, 
And here in the night, though life be sped, 

Comes back from the cold, dark grave. 
By sin's old tyrannous longings led 

Comes back from the cold, dark grave — 
O'er waves as red as a lover's blood 
Struck down in his amorous lustihood 1 

O evil love In whose tossing hair 

The fires of infamous longings glow. 

We, too, shall not win sleep from care — 
Where heaven's high army hears 
The anthems of Its spheres. 

Nor where majestic Lucifer, 

In burning vesture fronts his Foe — 

Condemned like them, sans hopes and fears 
Sans laughter or the gifts of tears. 

Monotonously round to go 

In endless pleasure's endless woe. 



GOLGOTHA 



CONFESSION 

I KNOW of an odorous palm-forest 

Filled with mysterious murmurlngs, 
Where In the glow of the crimson west 

A brilliant song-bird sobs and sings. 
There Is that In the note of the strange bright 
bird 

Makes heavy the heart within the breast; 
And whoso this evil song has heard 

Forever forfeits his peace and rest. 

But I know too of a wood In the north 

With a heavenly perfume all Its own, 
Where the nightingales long ere dawn pour 
forth 

A ravishing flood of the purest tone. 
The wanderer breathes once more and smiles 

As he comes in its soothing shade to sit — 
For the air that blows through Its cool green 
aisles 

Is no fierce blast from the stifling pit. 

A ripe fruit hangs in the sultry place, 

For whose savour a man counts all but loss, 

Forgetting even his mother's face 

And the bleeding Head upon the cross. 

In the cool green moss of the northern wood 
There blooms a flower of marvellous hue 
6s 



66 NINEVEH 

That speaks to the soul of naught but good, 
And tells of a world where all Is new. 

A witch-woman dwells In the palm-grove's heat 

That Is pale as the ghastly face of Death, 
But a red robe wraps her from head to feet, 

And through red, red lips comes her fevered 
breath. 
Her kisses burn where they close and cling 

Like pain of longing or fire of hell, 
And he that thrills with their adder-stIng 

For them Is ready his soul to sell. 

In the northern wood stands a slender maid 

With eyes that are blue as God's own sky — 
Nor is she in scarlet robe arrayed, 

But wrapped in her virginal purity. 
*'I have no part in the fires of sin," 

So runs her song, "for my name Is Level" 
Yet he who looks in her eyes shall win 

A glimpse of the height of heaven above. 

But I have walked where the sorceress dwells, 

Where poisoned blooms make the senses reel, 
And I have yielded me to her spells, 

And lost forever my soul's true weal. 
For me noi flower of good shall grow 

In the ruined garden where hope lies dead — 
And I need but look in your eyes to know 

The bliss my sin has forfeited! 



AND OTHER POEMS 67 

PROVOCATIO AD MARIAM 

O Mary I Mother Mary! have mercy on my 

pain, 
And quench the fire of hot desire that flames 

in every vein I 

O Mary! Mother Mary! commend me to thy 

Son, 
And tell Him that I perish before my course Is 

run. 

PooT helpless creatures we that walk where 

night and darkness frown, 
And so not mine the fault, not mine the might 

that drags me down. 

O Mary! Mother Mary! heed thou my sup- 
pliant plea 

And say to God the Father a word of grace for 
me. 

Before Him lies the mighty book in which with 
Iron pen 

Are graven deep, while angels weep, the 'shame- 
ful sins of men. 

O Mary! Mother Mary! think of thine own 
sweet Child, 



68 NINEVEH 

For whom thine eyes shed tears of blood, O 
Virgin undefiled. 

I too am nailed unto the cross — unto a cross of 

ill; 
The nails that hold me are the joys for which 

I hunger still. 

Give me no sop of gall, but pour the wine thy 

Son hath blessed, 
Wash off the stains of sin, and quench the fire 

within my breast ! 

The incense cloud shall rise for thee, the sacred 

tapers burn. 
If thou upon my sore distress a favouring eye 

wilt turn! 

But Mary, Mother Mary, heeds neither prayer 
nor vow, 

Only my heart's wild beating breaks on the still- 
ness now. 

O Mary ! Mother Mary, hear ! the tides of ruin 

swell ; 
My feet are sinking in the sands about the 

mouth of hell! 



AND OTHER POEMS 69 

BEFORE THE CROSS 

Long have I struggled with my pain 

And sought for peace and rest, 
To still the madness in my brain, 

The tumult in my breast. 
There is no hope unless Thou heed 

My abject misery — 
Pale God that on the Cross dost bleed 

I turn at last to Thee! 

I walked where poisonous plants abound; 

In search of wisdom high 
I stood before the Sphinx — and found 

No answer to my cry. 
Since truth refused her to my will, 

I plucked in petulant wrath, 
With reckless hand, the flowers of ill 

That grew about my path. 

Then sin drew nigh in woman's guise 

And wrecked my hopes of peace. 
Her body's joy was all my prize. 

Her clasp my only ease: 
And so to kiss her mouth I yearned 

That seemed so soft and fresh — 
But knew what thing she was when burned 

The brand upon my flesh I 



70 NINEVEH 

Aye, 'twas a leper I caressed — 

(Beneath the heavy weight 
Of guilt, O Lord, I sink oppressed!) 

And I was reprobate! 
The good, the pure that I had known, 

They passed me with a frown; 
I dared not stand where from the throne 

The Face of God looks down. 

Out of the depths of misery 

Thy goodness I entreat; 
Like some poor hunted beast I fly 

To cast me at Thy feet. 
Roses of blood I bring to Thee, 

A heart that craves for grace — 
O Jesus of Gethsemane, 

Turn not from me Thy face! 

And though the Sphinx her mystery weird 

Still offers as of yore. 
And poisoned flowers their head have reared 

About the senses' door. 
No riddle has a stranger sound 

Than this which tells for sooth 
That peace In humble faith is found, 

In God alone the truth! 



THE GARDEN OF PASSION 



SPRING 

For Peter Pan 

Spring came carolling through the land, 
Roses and laughter on every hand; 
But I was gazing with steadfast eye 
Where Christ was nailed on high. 

Hawthorn blossoms were white and gay, 
Promise of fruit in the laden spray — 
Only the tree of the Cross bare naught 
Save the ruin that death had wrought ! 

Spring passed on, and a breath of bloom 
Swept through the casement, filled the room. 

I cried In a sudden agony: 

"Lord Jesus, set me free! 

"See, I am young, and the blood Is hot. 
Longing for what I compass not — 

Love, and sunshine, and fond delight 

In beauty warm and white. 

"Lord, Thy Cross Is a heavy load. 
Thorny and steep the upward road- 
Lord, from the woods astir I hear 
Laughter and joyous cheer. 

"Far be It from me, Lord, to scorn 
The bitter anguish that Thou hast borne : 
But redder his mouth in its youthful pride 
Than the spear-wound in Thy side ! 
73 



74 NINEVEH 

"Ah, see how his hair like soft-spun gold 
Falls curling over his raiment's fold, 

And his laughing eyes look out with glee 

The great wide world to see ! 

"I thrill at his music silvery sweet, 
And I long to follow his dancing feet: 

For lo ! where they fall the flowers are born — 

And hearts no more forlorn! 

"My soul goes out to him since the hour 
He passed me by in his winsome power, 

And my blood is stirred by his witchery — 

Prince Jesus, set me free!" 

Bowed to my prayer the wounded Head, 
Died in the west the sunset red — 

And a slow, slow drop of blood ran down 

From under the thorny crown. 

Strange, in the years that have gone, the Cross 
Had grown so dear to me that its loss 

Went to my heart with a thrill of pain — 

I had half turned back again ! 

O sweet Lord Spring, I am free at last 
To follow wherever thy feet have passed, 

Over the dales and over the rills 

To the gladsome Grecian hills ! 



AND OTHER POEMS 75 



A SPRING BLESSING 

Spring's blessing be upon you, dear ! 

Such Is the prayer most meet for one 
Whose eyes look up so starry-clear — 

With all his flowerets new-begun 
Still may he bless your pathway, dear, 

Who weaves his golden threads around 
Your heart and mine together bound : 
Because your eyes are starry-clear — 
Spring's blessing be upon you, dear! 

Spring's blessing be upon you, child. 

When all the earth with longing swells, 
And lilies ring their silver bells 
For joy that he Is nigh. 

And open wide, their lord to greet, 
Adoring humbly at his feet 
(Ah, spring has come, and spring is 
sweet!) 
Their Inmost pageantry. 
And all the earth with love Is wild — 
Spring's blessing be upon you, child! 



76 NINEVEH 

Spring's blessing be upon you, child, 
And may the song of nightingales 
Re-echo from the wooded dales — 

Like women's arms so soft and mild, 

And as deep crimson roses wild, 

(Such is the song of the nightingales, 
And sad as tears of one that wails 

Where love's high temple Is defiled) ; 

Spring's blessing be upon you, child! 

Spring's blessing be upon your ways, 

Before in life's distracting maze 

We fall on hopeless evil days! 

True, summer comes more richly warm 
And fraught with wilder passion's storm 

Of torturing blisses; 
But golden gleams spring's youthful form. 
More sweet his kisses ; 

Soft breezes sing their roundelays — 

Spring's blessing be upon your ways! 



AND OTHER POEMS 77 

Spring's blessing be upon you, dear I 
His hair Is decked with flowery cheer; 
Upon his brow the diadem 

Shines out by right of youth Immortal; 
His might brings glad release to them 

That were condemned without the portal 
Of hope to live in sickening fear; 
Spring's blessing be upon you, dear! 

Spring's blessing be upon you, child! 
And never may the wine-cup hold 
One drop of bitter questioning. 
May Death In spring-time find you, child — 
But Love shall toss his locks of gold 
And make all life an endless spring, 
And fate and he be reconciled: 
Spring's blessing be upon you, child! 



78 NINEVEH 



LOVE'S SILENCE 

On crimson wings of passionate desire 
I traversed gardens of a tropic clime 

To pluck love's strangest blossoms, and my lyr 
Tuning, I caught each heart-throb in a rhyme 



'me. 



But now thy lashes burn me, and my head 
Is all confused with bitter love of thee; 

Yet never have I sung thy praise, or said 
How very pleasant was thy love to me. 

I hush the songs that rise in me by day, 
That rise by day and in the depth of night, 

Lest — as a tiny bird that flies away 

By some child's laughter taken with affright- 

At sound of lute-strings stirring in the wind, 
Love, half afraid, unfold his pinions fleet, 

And only leave upon the lawn behind 

The perfumed Imprint of his sandalled feet. 



AND OTHER POEMS 79 



REDEEMED 

Slow failed the twilight in my room, 
That none might witness my dismay, 

But, wide-awake amidst the gloom, 
I dreamed beyond the close of day. 

There was a tumult in my soul, 
And yet I knew not what I sought : 

Toward a strange and hidden goal 
I groped with fingers fever-fraught. 

Then reared the ancient foe of good 
His serpent's crest: I strove no more, 

But rose and went until I stood 
Where sin set wide its open door. 

The air is thick as incense-wreaths 
That waver in the candles' gleam. 

But what is this that softly breathes 
Upon my brow as in a dream? 



8o NINEVEH 



A fairy vision of surprise 

Toward my couch you seemed to glide 
There was no need to raise my eyes 

To know that you were by my side. 

And when your slender fingers strayed 
In pity o'er my burning face, 

The foul enchantment was afraid 
And fled defeated from the place. 

And when your mouth so soft and red 
Clung to me, soothing where it fell, 

With one light touch my pain was sped, 
I was redeemed from depths of hell! 

Then drooped above me — and dismay 
Beside the gate no longer stood — 

iWhIte blossoms from a laden spray, 
The wonder of your womanhood I 



AND OTHER POEMS 8i 

LOVE TRIUMPHANT 

Your body's treasures are mine to-day, 
Though bitter as gall be their savour still; 

From head to foot shall my kisses play, 

Till naught Is kept from their sovereign will ! 

The voice of my need supreme must guide 
My passionate love to Its destined goal; 

My feverish fingers shall seek and glide 
Until at the last I hold the soul. 

My hot strong hands will no veil endure 
That shadows your radiant nakedness; 

Lay bare each beauty, conceal no lure, 
Leave naught to hinder my fond caress I 

Young blood beats onward, unchecked by shame, 
When passion's harvest is ripe to reap; 

For who shall speak with the raging flame, 
Or stay the cataract in Its leap? 

My armies have stormed at your city's gate — 
I have conquered you, hold you. Might Is 
right 

With the beasts of the wild that celebrate 
In the jungle their primal marriage night. 



82 NINEVEH 

You too are moved by the selfsame power, 
Your quick breath tells In its shuddering fall: 

There Is naught so strong as love this hour — 
Call It god or beast, it Is lord of all I 



The god In me and the beast In me 
And all deep things come up to light; 

And I would barter my soul to be 
The prize of love for a single night. 



One long, long night of supreme desire, 
One long, long night of riot and rage ; 

For you are the sea and I the fire, 

And old as the world Is the war we wage. 



The old, old strife of woman and man 
That ever has been, and still shall be 

Until the day when the vaulted span 
Shall sink a wreck In the whelming sea. 



Once fed, no longer the wolf-pack raves : 
But love can never of madness tire. 

And I must drown In your passion's waves. 
And you consume In my hot desire. 



AND OTHER POEMS 83 

This the law of the flowering south, 

Of the snow-clad north where the world is 
white . . . 

You shall faint and fall as I crush your mouth 
Beneath a conqueror's ruthless might! 

My life is poured in the stream of yours, 
But fire and flood were not meant to mate : 

We shall never be one while the world 
endures — 
And the meaning of love at the last is hate I 

My soul is drunk with your maddening charms; 

You have taken all — I have naught to lose. 
About me tighten your slender arms 

With the very grip of the hangman's noose. 

So let us struggle, both flame and flood, 
Let love and hate and sense have play 

Till the slow dawn rises bathed in blood, 
And you and I are dead ere day! 



84 NINEVEH 

SUNSET. 

With amber light the sinking day 

Has tinged the stream below the town, 
Before the pageant fades away, 

And night's black wings come swooping 
down. 
The wind has heaped the clouds from far 

And rounded them like maiden's breasts. 
And out beyond the harbour bar 

A violet shadow softly rests. 

Thus drifting down the stream, I caught 

Far-blown a murmurous refrain, 
,(You know It well, dear!), and I thought 

With kindness of the past again. 
So may your memories, too, be fraught 

With no regret, or hate, or pain. 
May all the bitterness be naught. 

And all the sweet of love remain. 



AND OTHER POEMS 85 

THE SCARLET FLOWER 

It was in the days, In the days of the roses, 
When under your kisses my sorrow was sped, 

Now autumn blossoms the field encloses. 

And autumn blossoms enwreath our head — 
And Love and rejoicing and May are dead. 

And the world Is windy and waste and wide : 
The days of the roses have long since fled^ 

And the scarlet flower of love has died. 

Once thought I your lips with unperlshing kisses 
To kiss, that as mantles of queens are red, 

Once thought I no love In the world as this is, 
O beautiful love, O dream that is dead — 
But the wlnd^s In the tree tops, the leaves are 
all shed. 

They are borne down the terrible mountain side ; 
All sweet things flee as our summer has fled. 

And the scarlet flower of love has died. 



86 NINEVEH 

We two of the honey of love have eaten, 

Have drunk deep draughts of the gold 
sunshine, 
But the key of the grove we were wont to meet 
In, 
Where bloomed that flower as red as wine. 
Is lost in some mystical land divine — 
No refuge our love has, no place to abide : 
In our grove dwells the autumn, *mid wood- 
land and vine — 
And the scarlet flower of love has died. 

Uenvoi 

Nor fairy nor elf-queen can alter our fate, 
The magical word is forever denied; 

The past Is dead, and the charm too late. 
And the scarlet flower of love has died. 



AND OTHER POEMS 87 

MR. W. H. 

^^To Mr. W. H., the onlie begetter of the ensu- 
ing sonnetsJ^ 
^Inscription to Shakespeare's Sonnets. 

I SOMETIMES dream and dreaming long 
For thee, strange boy whose golden head 
With blossoms of unending song 
Was garlanded. 

Sad, surely, and contemptuous 
And smiling thou beheld'st the game 
Of life, as once Antlnous 
His splendid shame. 

A softer light was in thine eyes 
Than any that the moonbeam paints, 
Or in some dead queen's hair that lies 
Or blessed saint's. 

And yet, perchance thou hadst no art, 
Nor depth, nor subtlety, — a boy 
To whom a poet's singing heart 
Was but a toy. 



88 NINEVEH 

FOR ANTINOUS IN HIS OLD AGE 

Snows In thy hair and wrinkles on thy brow, 
The years have strewn the ashes on thy face ; 
Of all things wretched, wanting most In 
grace, 

Of all things sad, the saddest thing art thou. 

Now has thy boyish smile become a leer, 
Thy lips are swollen and thy vision blinks. 
And In thy heart, more ancient than the 
Sphinx, 

Abide alone the memory and the tear. 

O lovely lad reborn In many a land. 

Of Shakespeare loved and Michelangelo! 
Not thine this age's crown of sorrow, and 
Thou shouldst have died these many years 
ago, 

Not grown Into a spectre of the past. 
To be a thing of horror at the last. 



AND OTHER POEMS 89 



TO SLEEP 

O GENTLE sleep, turn not thine eyes away, 
But place thy finger on my brow and take 
All burthens from me and all dreams that 
ache; 

Upon mine eyes a cooling balsam lay, 

Seeing I am aweary of the day. 

But now thy lips are ashen and they quake — 
What spectral vision seest thou that can 
shake 

Thy sweet composure and thy heart dismay? 

Perhaps the eyes of wicked murder gleam 
Upon my bedside, or some monstrous dream 
Would bring such fearsome guilt upon the 
head 
Of my unvigilant soul as might arouse 
The Borgian snake from her envenomed bed, 
And startle Nero In his Golden House! 



90 NINEVEH 



PRAYER OF SOULS IN NEED 

Lord of good pilots, kindly Father, hear us 
And teach our feet to walk Thy ways of pain ; 

Lo, once again the awful head of Eros 
Rises from seas of passion, and again 



The hand to which love's unblessed power is 
given 
Raising, he hurls a life against the shoal. 
And smiling marks adrift 'twixt Hell and 
Heaven 
The shipwreck of a soul ! 



AND OTHER POEMS 91 



RESURRECTION 

Away, away, ghost of my dead desire, 
Stir not again the ashes In my breast. 

Of all my loves I had made one great fire. 
And burned thine Image even as the rest! 

Now from his grave Love casts the covering, 
And once again there rises through the night, 

Like sudden water from a perished springy 
The murdered music of my slain delight! 



92 NINEVEH 

THE BALLAD OF NUN AND KNIGHT 

She speaks: 

I DREAMED a dream of how the red sun fell, 
And on the plain beyond the city spread 
A joyous crowd, by Love and Laughter led; 

When sudden came, but faintly audible, 

A leper's voice, and then the warning bell : 
Then passion paled — seized with a speechless 

dread. 
They tarried not to spit at him, but fled, 

As if that beggar were a thing from hell. 

And so if once our love were known, O sweet! 
The veriest harlot, roaming through the street, 
Would rather make the gutter her abode. 

And share the leper's bed without a sigh, 
Than touch our hand, but praying thank her 
God 
That she is not even as thou and L 



AND OTHER POEMS 93 



He speaks i 

Full well I know that with its craggy rim 
The cup of wrath awaits us and the Doom, 
O Bride of Christ, thou for the love of whom 

To all hell's torches these mine eyes were dim : 

Is He not Lord of all the Seraphim? 

His all the gardens and all fruit the womb 
Of earth shall bear? — I took one little bloom. 

Faithful to me, thou brokest faith with Him. 

Yet though all saints turn from us, and hell's gin 
Close fast upon us, and the red flames dwell 

On your gold hair, and where your mouth has 
been. 
Lovers shall know and sing of us, and tell 

How that our love was greater than our sin, 
And tears of pity reach the heart of hell. 



94 NINEVEH 



LOVE IN DREAMLAND 

White cloud-wonders waver and wander, 
White mists rising and falling yonder 
Are like chill fingers laid upon my heart; 

Ever the nightingale's plaint grows fonder- 
Can it be true that you and I must part? 

Red, red roses hang in a cluster, 
Red lips glow in the wine-cup's lustre; 

Stay me, before I go, with wine and bread ! 
Round me an army of shadows muster 

And weave a veil of darkness for my head. 

Will o' the wisp before me flying. 
Pale sad faces like faint flames dying — 

I walk alone beside a spectral mere; 
Ghostly voices about me crying 

Fill every crevice of my soul with fear! 



AND OTHER POEMS 95 

Lights of error and mists of terror, 

On I go by the paths of error; 
Far bells ring out In solemn warning tone. 

I look. In the moonlight's magic mirror, 
And doubt the world's existence and my own. 

Voice of the sea in its anguished groaning, 
Old woods that never can cease from moan- 

The song that rings and sings o'er hill and dale, 

False enchantments are all Intoning — 
I am a dream and you Its shadow pale. 

White cloud-wonders are soaring and sweep- 
ing- 
Far away you are waiting, sleeping. 

No passing madness now my vision mars: 
Our love is safe in the fairies' keeping, 

Our kingdom set in worlds beyond the stars I 



96 NINEVEH 

FRIENDSHIP 

Lo, in my hour of need I called on thee, 

Asking thy friendship's none too heavy toll ; 

Comrades were we when I was glad and 
whole, 
And yet thou cam'st not, and at last I see 
Twain are the ways of friendship, and there be 

One that laughs with us o'er the fragrant 
bowl. 

And one that wanders with the troubled soul 
In the great silence of Gethsemane. 

I can forgive, and while glad days abound 
Thou shalt be with me; but when Autumn 
flings 
The rose-leaf and the wine-cup to the ground. 
Then would I call upon the heart that 
hears 
With intimate love the depth of Human 
things. 

The eye that knows the sanctity of tears. 



AND OTHER POEMS 97 



WASTED SONGS 

For your dear sake I worked my own soul 
wrong, 
Yea, gave you all my splendid roses, wet 
With dew of my heart's blood, O sweet, and 
set. 
Upon your brow a diadem of song. 

These boons you blandly took — as though they 
were 
A thing as fleeting as the thin sea-foam, 
Or any gift of fruit or honey-comb — 
With the light smile of those who do not 
care . . . 



98 NINEVEH 



LORD EROS 

What man Is strong to bind and hold 
The eagle in his proud estate, 

Or from Love's treacherous fairy-gold 
To weave his woof of fate? 

Lord Eros is no gentle god, 
Nor human folly smiles upon, 

His are the scourges and the rod 
Without oblivion. 

We deemed him but a winsome boy, 
Until he clutched us by the throat; 

We dallied with him, and the toy 
Became a sword that smote. 

The Book of Love is closed and sealed 
With iron signet, and the night 

Has smothered with her agate shield 
The torches of delight. 



AND OTHER POEMS 99 

AT CROSS-ROADS 

Prater, ave atque vale, — Catullus. 

One singing road we travelled both together, 

All day long side by side; 
Now that the night is falling on the heather, 

Our ways divide. 

If thou choose one path, I shall choose the 
other — 

The whither, who can tell? 
But ere we part I call to thee : My brother, 

Hail and farewell ! 



100 NINEVEH 



AUTUMN 



Youth's first flush has left you ; yet 'tis sweet to 
rest 

Close against your beating heart — ^never maid- 
en's breast 

Made a softer pillow for my aching brow, 

Never swifter coursed the blood through my 
veins than now ! 

Like an elder sister's, calm and mild your gaze, 
Finding gentle pardon for a boy's impetuous 

ways. 
*'ChIld!" you call me, chide my freedom with a 

smile 
Yet I hear your heart-beats, know you love me 

all the while! 



AND OTHER POEMS loi 

Fate has used me kindly, granted to my prayer 
Deeper In life's eyes to look than boyhood else 

may dare — 
Unafraid to face Its current sweeping strong: 
Gods and women with their love reward the 

poet's song. 

Calm autumnal beauty, still I wish you well, 
Still I pray no breath of harm may touch you 

with Its spell. 
'Twas In you that first I knew how morn and 

eve could meet, 
Death's majestic sadness, life's transport wildly 

sweet I 



I02 NINEVEH 

LOVE CRUEL 

Right true it is that once love's bacchanal 
Had spent itself, and the devouring sea 
Of passion slept, that unrelentingly 

I heaped upon you bitterness, and all 

That sears the heart and kills it, yea the gall 
Poured down your throat, until you looked at 

me 
With sad wan smile that was a silent plea, 

Craving deliverance from the cruel thrall. 

Right true it is I harass you with fears, 

With sudden mood, indifference, sharp 
surprise : 
I love you best, O sweetest, when the tears 
Moisten the perfect crystal of your eyes. 
And from their depths, as from mysterious 
meres, 
The blinding mists of utter anguish rise. 



AND OTHER POEMS 103 

SILENTIUM POETiE 

Here In the dusk your lips against my face 
Cling close and sigh — you tremble In my 

arms, 
Make glad my heart with indescribable 
charms, 
And all my manhood hungers for your grace. 
Yet I recall how friendship's light embrace 
Awoke In me the soul divine that sings; 
The lyre that when Apollo touched the 
strings 
Found voice, but faintly Venus' hand obeys. 

What time I trod the path Catullus went. 

Where Shakespeare paced, before but still in 
view. 
My every heart-beat was a burst of song : 
But now a woman's tresses redolent 
Entwine about my fingers, and a new 

Strange dumbness does my sacred calling 
wrong 1 



104 NINEVEH 



THE LAST CHORD 

Wearily I leaned my head 

Against your shoulder; not a word 
Was heard 

Or said. 

As fragile fingers clutching anxiously 

Call forth no answer from the silent urn, 

So from the valley of deep mystery 
No dead love shall return. 

We were right glad at last to part, 
And very wise — 

But, when with sudden start 

You felt in me the tears of pity rise, 
A gleam of hate came to your eyes. 

And there was murder in your heart! 



AND OTHER POEMS 105 

A LEAVE-TAKING 

The heavy gang-chains clatter, and the boat 
Groans grievously like to some stricken knight, 

A sudden yearning rises In my throat, 

And unshed tears half veil you from my sight. 

Your love was like an incense-bearing vase 
That I have shattered, playing carelessly, 

Seeing that dearer than my Lady's grace 
The lay of sainted poets was to me. 

As we have loved, so let us part from love, 
And I shall walk into the outer night 

Singing, at heart the sweet remembrance of 
Those violet-scented hours of delight. 



io6 NINEVEH 

SOUTHERN SUMMER 

Unrestful rest and aching drowsiness, 
Never a leaf to stir in tree or grass, 
The sands of time pass slowHer through the 
glass, 

And in its brilliant, many-colored dress 

The valley lies, all dumb and motionless. 
As if the angel of the Lord did pass 
Leaving behind no trace of life. Alas, 

This is a summer of great weariness I 

For I must wither in this tropic fire, 

These sickly fruits and blossoms I must dread. 
And on my heart has seized a great desire 

For the swift winds that lash my Northern 
home, 
Where brave men are of fair-haired women 
bred. 
Where heroes love and where the Vikings 
roam. 



AND OTHER POEMS 107 

LOVE'S QUEST 

I HAVE sought Love, and sought him every- 
where ; 
Once in a wood I saw his gleaming hair 

Flash from afar, but drawing nearer found 
A startled satyr leaping from his lair. 



IN THE AGORA 



TO A DEFEATED CANDIDATE 

Surely we stumble toward an evil day, 
For us of late Is freedom's path too steep, 
Her words perverted In our mouths; we keep 

Our bondage willing, aye, endure the sway 

Of trickster's hands and redder hands that slay: 
Yet this no season to lament or weep, 
But to arise and with tempestuous sweep 

Hurl the false Idols from their seat of clay. 

Thou whom the people's voice acclaims their 

own, 
Thou their defender, shalt approach the throne 
Of the blind goddess with the awful rod, 

And she will know thee victor without flaw, 
Or else set Guile above the shrine of God, 
And break in twain the tablets of the Law. 



II I 



112 NINEVEH 

HEINE 

{Professor Herter's Heine Fountain, received 
by the City of New York, after it had been re- 
fused by well-nigh every important German com- 
munity, has twice been injured; once by malice, 
and once through accident. Finally it was pro- 
posed to remove it from its present site to make 
room for a useless street.) 



Nor life nor death had any peace for thee, 
Seeing thy mother cast thee forth, a prey 
To wind and water, till we bade thee stay 

And rest, a pilgrim weary of the sea. 

But now it seems that on thine effigy 

Thy very host an impious hand would lay^ 
Go then and wander, praising on thy way 

The proud Republic's hospitality! 

Yet oft with us wreathed brow must suffer 

wrong, 

The sad Enchanter of the land of Weir 

Is still uncrowned, unreverenced, and we fear 

The Lords of Gold above the Lords of Song. 

Were it not strange, then, should we honour 

more 
The sweet-mouthed singer of a foreign shore ? 



AND OTHER POEMS 113 

THE NEW COLOSSUS IN 1907 

Behold the myriads at the gate 

Who from the Old World saw thy light, 
Thy hand is strong to bless or smite 

These pilgrims, and thy "yea" is fate. 

They as our fathers come from far; 

From shores where blazes Dante's sun, 

And from the bleak dominion 
Where fall the lashes of the Czar. 



Their strong untiring arms have hewn 
A path o'er Alpine mountain-crest, 
Them England nurtured at her breast, 

And over them rose Erin's moon. 



Yet though their necks for menial toil 
Are bent to build our empire, they 
Shall bear within no distant day 

Strong sons and daughters of this soil. 

But now we need their labour; mute 
Our engines lie in barren rest. 
And in our gardens south and west 

Ungarnered rots the mellow fruit 



114 NINEVEH 

And the white cotton. We are shorn 
Of many gifts of priceless worth; 
The yellow gold cries from the earth 

And from our fields the yellow corn. 

They shall reap wealth from ore and coal 
Such as no Eastern king beheld, 
And build the Iron roads that weld 

Our nation In one splendid whole. 

Not only bent on distant quest 

In tropic skies, thou shalt at length 
Bethink thee of thy native strength, 

Young Titan of the boundless West! 

Within the compass God has set, 

Between these shores from main to main, 
Thou hast new victories to gain, 

And thou hast worlds to conquer yet! 



MALE AND FEMALE CREATED 
HE THEM 



AIOGYNE 

We are alone — are quite alone 

Beneath the heavy canopy, 
Only the crimson light, far-thrown 

From the dim lamp gleams, fitfully. 
Now passion's rites have all been paid; 

Lean back in silence, gently, thus, 
Until my dreaming eyes have strayed 
Above your beauty luminous. 

The sinuous glory of your hair, 

The chiselled marble of your breast. 
And, but for soft-showered rose-leaves bare, 

Each secret nook where love may rest. 
I gaze in silence : you have stilled 

The hunger of my soul's disease. 
Your body Is with wonders filled. 

And you creation's masterpiece. 

O mystery, O miracle. 

Shall I extol your love or rue? 
For you are heaven, and you are hell, 

And God and beast are both in you. 
You stood beside the Cross of shame 

When wavering manhood failed and fled — 
And yet I know you for the same 

That tempted Satan to her bed ! 



ii8 NINEVEH 

So short your memory, Magdalene? 

Think you no longer of the day 
His word went through you like the keen 

Sharp sword of judgment, and you lay 
Before His feet with unbound hair 

Who cleansed you of your leprosy, 
And made a woman's womb to bear 

The Godhead's awful majesty? 



But ah ! the fever in your breast 

Craved not alone such holy grace ; 
Sin was your raiment, and your quest 

Was evil, and your purpose base. 
Your kisses taught our primal sire 

The meaning and the might of lust, 
O Lilith, half enchantress dire. 

Half monster coiling in the dust. 



Vultures that wheel where carrion lies. 

All vices followed in your train, 
As vermin round the God of Flies; 

Of fruit proscribed your lips were fain. 
Strange fires of lust would leap and war 

Beneath your bosom's ivory. 
The white bull trembled when from far 

He heard your step, Paslphae ! 



AND OTHER POEMS 119 

In MItylene's mountain glades 

You breathed soft music on the pale 
Breast-blossoms of your Lesbian maids, 

O sweet-mouthed Sappho, and the bale 
Of barren passion held you thrall , 

And in far Syria turned your heart 
To brown-limbed lads upon the wall 

Imprisoned by the painter's art. 



And grisly tales the Nile could tell 

Of boys that dreamed a maddening dream, 
And how a lifeless body fell 

Each night Into the silent stream. 
To-day, amid the sullen sands 

Where once was Isis' temple vast. 
The Sphinx your dreadful Image stands, 

Eternal symbol of your past! 



When Rome's Imperial crown adorned 

Your head, still sin was law to you : 
No meanest slave's embrace you scorned. 

The very streets your orgies knew. 
Practiced In every wanton wile. 

Your heart a lazar-house Impure, 
You made the name Faustina vile — 

The serpent was your paramour! 



I20 NINEVEH 

With mystic dye your tresses stained, 

You watched to death the Baptist pass, 
And with your boon damnation gained, 

O daughter of Herodlas! 
And when the road to Calvary 

For you the Incarnate Saviour trod. 
You grieved not that He went to die 

But spat upon the face of God ! 



Long years have passed, the softly-curved 

Sweet lips have kissed full many a lord; 
But Sin, the master you have served, 

Grants endless youth for your reward. 
Eternal Woman ! Good nor 111 

Has left Its stamp on charms like these : 
Your body Is a wonder still, 

And you creation's masterpiece I 



Away with visions that recall 

Your nameless lust, your stranger woes. 
For whiter than the first snowfall 

Your Immemorial beauty glows. 
Lean back In all your loveliness 

Soft-bedded where red roses bleed: 
A fool who would your secret guess, 

And who has guessed It — poor Indeed ! 



AND OTHER POEMS 121 

AIANDER 

The proud free glance, the thinker's mighty 

brow, 
The curling locks and supple, slender limbs, 
The eye that speaks dominion, victor's smile — 
All these I know. By them I hail thee Man, 
Lord of the earth. Thou art the woman's slave. 
And yet her master . . . 

I know thee when about thy sunburnt thighs 
Thou swing'st the tawny skin a tiger wore 
Till thy rude weapon dashed him to the ground. 
I know thee also when thy shoulders bear 
The purple mantle of an emperor, 
Stained with the blood of thousand tiny lives; 
The golden sandals clasped upon thy feet; 
Thy hair made rich with spikenard, and thy 

brow 
Graced with the gifts that mutual east and west 
Conspire to offer to their sovereign lord. 

I know thee too in lust's relentless rage, 
Dragging the chosen woman to thy lair. 
To frame upon her body at thy will 
Sons in thine image, strong of loin as thou : 
And when, the bearer of thy father's sins, 
Within the portals of the House of Shame 



122 NINEVEH 

Monstrous delight thy passion seeks to find 
In futile quest, and Nature pitiful 
Will not transmit unto the future's womb 
Thy weakened generation . . . 

Image of God I know thee — God thyself. 
Walking the world on India's sun-parched plains 
Thy name was Rama ; thou in desert sands 
Of Araby didst dream thy wondrous dream; 
The cradles of all races thou hast seen — 
Thou Zarathustra — thou the Son of Man ! 
I know the wounds of hands and feet and 

side . . . 
Ah, and I know the ring about thy neck 
Of ruddy curls ! Say, Judas, in thine ear 
Make they sweet music still, the silver coins. 
As on the day the temple's veil was rent? 

So, in the far-stretched background of all time 
I watch thy progress through the sounding 

years — 
AVielding the sceptre here, and there the lyre, 
The lord or servant of thy master-passion. 
Pure or polluted, fool or nobly wise. 
And this it is that justifies the whole, 
This is thy greatness : thou hast stumbled oft. 
And straying often fallen. Yet all the while. 
Wandering the stony wilderness of life, 



AND OTHER POEMS 123 

Thine eyes were fixed upon the steadfast star 
That far-off stands above the Promised Land. 

Rough Is the road, beset by mocking heavens 
And false Illusory hells — the strong, the weak 
Alike by dancing fires are led astray, 
And poisoned flowers bloom rankly on the path. 
Self In the guise of selfishness approached. 
Frailty In garment of a god benign ; 
Pleasure with lying accents 'T am sin" 
Proclaimed, and vice, "I am bold action" cried; 
"I am contentment," spoke the belly full, 
And the applause of groundlings, "I am fame." 

And so It came that only here and there 
In all the years a strong, unerring one 
Plucked boldly at the flowers of brief delight. 
Yet by the dust of tumult unconfused 
Pressed on to reach the goal ; the strong man's 

goal : 
To rule and to enjoy, to hold command 
Over both things and spirits, to enjoy 
All pleasant sounds and all sweet gifts, yet strive 
Untiring, ever upward to that sun 
Which no world-master's blind despotic will, 
But his own hand, with more than Titan 

strength. 
Unto the utmost firmament has flung. 



THE MAGIC CITY 



A POET'S CREED 

"Assuage the tempests In thy heart that toss, 

For now thy verse has a rebellious ring; 

Unto the people as a gift to bring 
Transmute thy gold into the common dross !" 
Nay, all who sang and singing bare the cross, 

Villon and Byron heard the selfsame thing; 

Yet had they heeded, had they ceased to sing, 
Were not the earth the poorer for their loss ? 

Stand back In silence, as with trembling awe 

Upon the masters of high song I call : 
What though my heart be stained with many a 
flaw. 
What though my blind steps stumble, and I 
fall: 
There Is no god save Beauty, and no law 
Save that of Numbers richly musical. 



127 



128 NINEVEH 



TO SWINBURNE. 

Eloquent master, thy melodious rage 

Our latter song may not aspire to reach! 

Our eyes beheld the magic of thy speech 
Conjure the love-queens of a perished age, 
Yea, clothe with life their spectral forms, and 
wage, 

When the sight stung thee, war with Heaven 
for each: 

Only the rolling anthem of the beach 
Could break the spell and end thy vassalage. 

The sea, thy true love, taught thy lyric tongue 
The mighty music of her mutiny: 

Thy voice as hers the ages shall prolong. 

And, praising numbers, men shall ask of 
thee: 

*'Is it the sea that thunders in his song, 
Or is It his song reverberates In the sea ?" 



AND OTHER POEMS 129 

CHARLES BAUDELAIRE 

Like a heart stabbed through with the sword 
of woe, 

The sun suffuses the sky with blood 
And bathes the land In a crimson glow, 

With the colour of sin In a rushing flood. 
I gaze on a pale, pale face afar 

Agleam In the light of the dying day, 
But whiter and colder than snow-wreaths are 

That the clouds on the Alpine fir-trees lay. 

And a mouth as red as the wine that flows 

Where a monarch feasts with his warriors 
brave — 
So glowing a red had never the rose 

With Its roots set deep In a murderer's grave, 
Whose Impious hand was raised to kill 

The mother that bore him, and then knew 
how 
He must live his life 'neath the curse of 111, 

With the brand of Cain on his burning brow. 



And floating, fluttering round It fell 
Long locks like a regal robe of state, 

And ever enmeshed In their magic spell 
Great captive Titans humbly wait. 



1 30 NINEVEH 

And eyes so deep that they seem to know 
All depths yet reached since the world 
began — 

Aye, deep as the bottomless pit they go, 
Or the wayward, wandering heart of man. 

I heard a song, and I had no choice 

But to listen as Into my heart It stole . . . 
Strange loves that speak with a siren voice. 

And lusts that rot both body and soul. 
Ah, never again since it entered In 

Have I known the peace of a moment's rest — 
For there is a note in this song of sin 

That wakes an echo within my breast. 

You have travelled far Into love's demesne; 

You have pierced to the heart of the riddle of 
things : 
Your soul is an altar on which unseen 

Burns the mystic flame that has scorched my 
wings. 
You that sing of sin as but she has sung 

That lived before passion was bound by fear, 
In the Grecian land when the lyre was young, 

Brother and master, I hail you here! 



AND OTHER POEMS 131 



THE POET 

Albeit my song Is like a driven blade 
And I am first In all your minstrel wars, 
I cannot break the elemental bars : 

When stood the sun still while I sang, or stayed 

His chariot In a cloud to give me shade? 
Nor shall my passion swerve the calendars 
Or melt the cold Indifference of the stars 

Before whose light the Muse^s lamp must fade. 

What though my strain stir all hearts and sur- 
pass 
Great Dante's music drawn from blood and 
tears? 
All I have wrought and praying wrought 
so well, 
Is In the Iron chorus of the spheres 
No more than beating of a sounding brass, 
Or empty tinkle of a jester's bell. 



132 NINEVEH 

CONSOLATION 

TO RICHARD WATSON GILDER 

The sun-god in his robe of gold 
That trails the argent clouds upon, 

One day shall be a story told, 
And hidden in oblivion. 

The thunder of his chariot 

Seems but as playing on a lute 

To the Most High, who careth not 
If all the starry mouths be mute. 

Yea, when the cosmic cycles ring 

No more around the Central Throne, 

Shall not the Void beyond Him sing 
His praise in monstrous monotone? 

The earth and her constellate peers 
Are fleeting as an evening chime, 

And the irrevocable years 

Roll down the cataract of time. 

Yet are we not all dust; the night. 
By Love's own breath made exquisite, 

Shall for a space in passion's might 
Conjoin us with the Infinite. 

And though the planets falling reel 
We shall escape the primal curse, 

And in immortal numbers feel 
The heart-beat of the Universe. 



AND OTHER POEMS 133 

HADRIAN 

How pale, how wan, my Caesar, Is thy smile, 
Grey with the ashes of the heart's desire. 
Shall not thy slave with sweet pleasaunce 

beguile 
The hosts of care that to thy hurt conspire? 

Shall shimmering silks before thy throne be 

spread 
From the far sands where patient camels 

plod? 
Or black-robed seers draw nigh, who long 

have read 
The secret lines that cross the face of God? 

Shall steaming blood thine anguish drive away. 
When In the arena's madness and Its din 
Huge bright-eyed tigers crouch upon the 

prey, 
Or groan beneath the poisoned javelin? 

Nay, wilt thou scourge the arrogant sea with 

chains, 
And make thy footstool of an ocean's 

might? 
Lo, at thy nod the storm-tossed ship regains 
The friendly shore, or sinks from human 

sight. 



134 NINEVEH 

Wilt thou, perfumed and burning as the fire, 
The grape's red blood from jewelled 

chalice drain? 
Till drunken gladness to the gods aspire. 
Shall vine-wreathed Bacchus revel with his 

train ? 
Far kingdoms sent unto thy regal seat, 

The falriest maids with lucent step and 

glance. 
That at thy bidding shall with naked feet 
Swing in the maze of bacchanalian dance! 

Or, shall the slave-boy from the Lydlan land 
With sound of lute-string charm thine ear, 

and thou 
The minstrel raising, feel a lily hand 
Soft as the snow upon thine aching brow? 

But the pale Caesar sadly smiled and drear, 

"Enough," he said, and yet again: 

"Enough, 
The purple fades, the laurel soon grows 

sere. 
Death lays his finger on the lips of love. 

"Thy words, O slave, ring hollow as the tomb; 
Like evil damps, thine incense too shall 

pass. 
One thing alone escapes the general doom : 
Love's haloed image In art's magic glass! 



AND OTHER POEMS 135 

"Wounds past all cure are burning In my breast, 
Beauty's last kiss on lips that perish thus, 
Bring, that at last my weary heart find 

rest, 
The marble statue of Antinous. 

"I care not now for any earthly toy, 

Life's zenith lies behind me many a 

mile . . . 
White lotus-blossoms bury all my joy. 
And all my realm and all my self the Nile. 

"His face was heavenly transport to mine eyes, 
Sweet was his breath, as scented winds that 

blow 
O'er fields of purple hyacinths and rise 
In the glad May-time from the floral snow. 

"Approach in silence; holy is the ground 

Where beauty's feet have trod the desolate 

earth. 
Bow to the slave that freed my soul, and 

bound 
My love with loving to his greater worth. 

"Throughout all time shall sound his far lauda- 
tions. 
From sea to land and on from land to sea, 
I, even I, imperial lord of nations. 
Before this shrine in worship bend the knee. 



136 NINEVEH 

"Antlnous, thy beauty is not dead — 

Thou llv*st in realms of marble and of 

song!" 
And wearily the pallid Caesar's head 
Sank on his breast. Then silence deep and 

long. 

But where to Beauty sacrifice is given 

We too shall kneel to worship and adore, 
Whether its star resplendent rose in heaven 
From Grecian hill or Galilean shore. 



AND OTHER POEMS 137 

ART 

All-embracing 
Eternal art, 

That of the dust a handful takest, 
And by thy touch a spirit makest, 
In reverent praising 

Of thy perfection I would bear my part; 
Thou alone art beauty, thou life's inmost 
heart I 

Thou hast redeemed me, 
Thou set me free, 

Broken the lifeless matter's prisoning shell, 
Let my soul forth 
To seek what beseemed me 

And in the splendour of God's face to 
dwell. 

For Nature works with other powers. 
Draws from predestined seed the flowers. 
And all things from their substance due ; 
But thou, the source of endless light, 
Dost out of nothing by thy might 
Create a world where all Is new. 



138 NINEVEH 

While Nature's careful tutelage 
Confines us in a narrow cage — 

The single life is but a drop of rain 
That falls in summer showers 

In ceaseless round to be absorbed again 
Into the vast inane, 

An insignificant atom, that the gale 
Scatters its blast before, — 
Art gives us mighty wings to soar, 
With eagle sweep the infinite heights to 
scale, 

Storm at the gates 

Of heaven's high fortress barred. 
Though time and space and all the fates 
Stood vainly on their guard. 

Its gift is freedom — space to move, 
Our latent powers to prove, 

Towards an imperishable goal to strive, 
Self-conscious and alive I 

Looking backward through the misty ages 

Over the record of man's changeful way, 
Sudden I behold upon the pages 
Of the ancient book a gleam of day. 
Amid the broadening light 
A new creation springs to sight. 
Behold! the mists of chaos clear, 
And art is here I 



AND OTHER POEMS 139 

Confusion yields to order; beauty's curves, 
Fixed fitst In marble, art preserves. 
Night no longer glooms upon the way. 
Colours gleam and flash where dawns the day; 
Already from the lyre uncouth 
Speak faltering accents of eternal truth. 

Upon the scene a sightless minstrel stands 

Who Illon sings: 
From Hellas and the Latlan lands 
The resonant echo rings. 
Higher still and higher 
Mounts the sacred fire, 

And welling from her tuneful throat 
Hear Sappho's fond complaining note 
Far o'er the Lesbian waters float; 
Blessing with love or blasting in his ire, 
Catullus grasps the lyre! 

Nor poesy alone 

Delights us with its mystic tone. 

For lo ! from out the deep arise 
The pillared glories of the Parthenon : 
The sculptor's eyes 
Unsealed behold, his hands devise, 
Types of undying beauty, and in stone 
Hold the white vision of the boy 
Whose lustrous beauty was an emperor's 
joy. 



I40 NINEVEK 

Thus onward still 
I trace the proud creative will; 
I see the heaven-inspired throng 
Press further in its purpose strong, 

Watch Raphael ply his brush, and know 
The mind of Michelangelo ! 

Flung out by art's divinest discontent, 
New stars adorn the firmament, 
Great Shakespeare's glory burns, 
And Goethe In his orbit turns 
Above the deep horizon line 
Where Wagner's rising light will 
shine. 



Adown the stream my fancy sweeps, 
Where stately temples crown the steeps. 
I sail through purple seas 
With strange illumined argosies; 
Flames of kindling supernal, 
Flowers of beauty eternal 
Burst on the eye; 
And dimly in a vista I descry 

Pale, ghostlike souls of men that stray 
Through some mysterious dream- 
land's avenues 
And know not whether life or 
death to choose. 



AND OTHER POEMS 141 

Half seen through veils of shifting smoke 
Delicate fairy forms 

And phantoms come In hovering swarms; 
Shapes that never were on earth 
And never shall have mortal birth 
Art's magic spells evoke! 

No longer blinded by its majesty 
We gaze upon the sunrise In the sea — 
No more poor helpless drops of rain, 

Or atoms that the summer gales 
Drive scurrying on amain : 

Now have we strength that avails 
To mount where the planets wheel, 

Trampling beneath our feet 
The clouds of air, to feel, 

Free from the bounds that ag- 
grieved, 
The world-heart's rhythmic beat — 
And all this deliverance 
Art has achieved. 



142 NINEVEH 



THE MAGIC CITY 

Who knows where Babylon's forgotten kings 

Now keep their state? 
Laid to their rest 'neath purple coverings, 

They meet the common fate. 

No traces that abide 

Of all the Chrlsts who bled upon the Cross 
Ere Jesus died, 

And by the Ganges sought the gain of loss : 
Behold their priestly mantle's dye 
Has faded, and their day gone by. 

The witching girls with eyes so crystal-clear 
And honeyed tresses bright, 
Full many a fool's delight 
And his heart's all; 
These with the snows of yester-year 
Not Villon's cry shall wake to light, 
Asleep beyond recall. 



AND OTHER POEMS 143 

The tables of the law are broken; 

The flocks are feeding on the grass that grows 
About each sculptured token 

Of ancient empire, and the wild wind blows, 

Yet, though the spell of death and ruin lord 
The earth, above all mortal woes 

Deathless, triumphant sounds the poet's 
word, 
Clothed with thought's flame, and 
through the storm-fraught night. 
Blazes like a mighty sword 
Leaping to the fight. 

Through the clang of battle, and the crash 
Of worlds that to destruction fall. 
Song rings out like silver trumpets' call, 
Or, heard though all, 

Harmonious still, great chords consenting clash. 

Never is melody silent on earth ; 

Faint, far-away, but forever rings the sound of 

Its mirth. 
Not even the sun is eternal, but immortal, O 
Homer, thy birth ! 
And still the listening years 

Repeat her lyric name, 
Who wove song's deathless garland from her 
tears 
And from her shame. 



144 NINEVEH 

And raised by music's might 

— High walls in battlemented line — 
A magic city dawns before my sight : 

Golden temples rear their haughty heads 

on high 
Domes like new suns blazing seem to span 
the sky. 



I enter In, and straying stand at length 

Amazed before a vast cathedral's door. 
Immense it rises there, in conscious strength 
That many a tempest bore. 

On the threshold swift I pause: 
Sound of ghostly footsteps awes 
My eager feet that would an entrance 
win, 
Bids me kneel and murmur low 
Prayers of reverence, as I know 
What holy thoughts, what wisdom dwell 
therein. 



This Is the home of high Teutonic speech 
Where beauty's sacred fire forever glows. 
Upon the Edda's broad foundation rose 

The soaring columns vaulted each to each, 



AND O THER POEMS 1 45 

And Goethe, Shakespeare, Ibsen reach 
Their spans across the hall: 
And over all 

A dome that holds the light, 
The Over-Man, whose message mystical 
Bade us be bold and laugh and seize 

delight. 
Before he vanished Into endless night 
At Zarathustra's call ! 



Of song Is made the painted windows' sheen, 
The lustre of the lamps. 

The tapestries shot with gold : 
On each his own design some singer stamps. 
The very stones have voices, that pro- 
claim 
The Magic City and uphold 
Her deathless fame. 



The Holy of Holies Is this place; 
Some hanging that the wall may grace 

To weave with care. 
Or with the smoking censer pace, 

Or do least service In that blessed throng 
Is to claim kinship with God's saints and wear 
The martyr's crown of song. 



THE HAUNTED HOUSE 



THE HAUNTED HOUSE 

I LAY beside you ... on your lips the while 
Hovered, most strange ... the mirage of a 

smile, 
Such as a minstrel lover might have seen 
Upon the visage of some antique queen — 
Flickering like flame, half choked by wind and 

dust. 
Weary of all things saving song and lust. 

How many days and years and lovers' lies 
Gave you your knowledge ? You are very wise 
And tired, yet insatiate to the last. 
These things I thought, but said not; and there 

passed 
Before my vision in voluptuous quest. 
The pageant of the lovers who possessed 
Your soul and body even as I possess, 
Who marked your passion in its nakedness 
And all your love-sins when your love was new. 

They saw as I your quivering breast, and drew 
Nearer to the consuming flame that burns 
Deep to the marrow of my bone, and turns 
My heart to love even as theirs who knew 
From head to girdle each sweet curve of you, 
Each little way of loving. No caress. 
But apes the part of former loves. Ah yes, 
149 



I50 NINEVEH 

Even thus your hand toyed in the locks of him 
Who came before me. Was he fair of limb 
Or very dark? What matter, with such lures 
You snared the heart of all your paramours I 

To-night I feel the presence of the others, 

Your lovers were they and are now my brothers 

And I have nothing that has not been theirs, 

No single bloom the tree of passion bears 

They have not plucked. Beloved, can it be? 

Is there no gift that you reserve for me — 

No loving kindness or no subtle sin. 

No secret shrine that none has entered in, 

Whither no mocking memories pursue 

Love's wistful pilgrim ? I am weary too, 

With weariness of all your lovers, and when 

I follow in the ways of other men, 

I know each spot of your sweet body is 

A cross, the tombstone of some perished kiss. 

With all its beauty and its faultless grace 
Your body, dearest, is a haunted place. 
When I did yield to passion's swift demand, 
One of your lovers touched me with his hand. 
And in the pang of amorous delight 
I hear strange voices calling through the night 



THE THREE SPHINXES 



AND O THER POEMS 1 5 3 



THE THREE SPHINXES 

Before the Image older than the world, 

Or 111 or good, 
By Titan hand Into the desert hurled. 
In the Egyptian sunset musing stood — 
Long having travelled by fantastic roads 
Where In deep sands the tremulous foot- 
step sinks — 
The oldest and the youngest of the gods. 
Saying: 
"Upon my life has fallen thy shadow, 
O Sphinx!" 

Replied the Sphinx: **0 son of Aphrodite, 
Shall wisdom teach thee how the soul Is won. 

Or the hot sands be balsam on thy lids ? 
Behold approach from Thebes and Babylon, 
Huge birds grotesque against the falling 
gloom. 
My far-come younger sisters." And a mighty 
Thunder of pinions shook the pyramids, 
And made the mummies mumble In their 
tomb. 



154 NINEVEH 

The three stern sisters of the mystery 

Enduring and miraculously wrought 
In granite and in porphyry, 

Then, holding concourse in the desert, 
spake 
With the great sound of billows on the sea 

That rumble as they break: 
"Thou, Eros, art the eternal riddle, we 

Are but in stone the semblance of thy 
thought." 

Limbed like the panther, featured like a man, 
The wisest of the Sphinxes thus began. 

That still had waited where the river steams 
And winds the caravan : 
"In my brain's cavern seven cubits span 
Dwell visions splendorous 

Of the great lords of song and thought 
and might. 
Who in the large eyes of Antinous 

Have read the Deeper Light. 
Upon my lashes gleams 

Still Shakespeare's rhythmic tear; 
Here Plato musing dreamed his dreams 
Of spirit-passion; David here 
In the long night-watch sang of Jonathan." 



AND O THER POEMS 1 5 5 

Then rose the winged Theban, figure dual 

Of maid and Hon strangely wed; 
*'I am the blood that tingles, and the jewel 
Of all the world's desire adorns my head — 
The lithe-limbed youths that fell for Hel- 
en's sake 
Have died for me, 
The lads that wake 
To ripeness curse me as they ache 
Beneath my tyranny. 
My mandates sweet and cruel 

Nor prayer nor penance shall revoke : 
I am the flame, men's bodies are the fuel, 
Men's souls the smoke." 

The pinioned Sphinx of Babylon, 

Human in naught, Lord Eros thus addressed : 
^'Wherever men have spat thy face upon 
Or sought strange pleasure In unholy quest, 
My breath had made them mad. 
I am the dream that Nero's mother had 

Ere burned his natal star. 
I am the ghastly vision of de Sade: 
Astarte and Priapus wage 

War for my beauty monstrous, bar- 
ren, bare; 
The Cretan knew me and from far 
My Image fell upon the crimson page 
Of Swinburne and of Baudelaire." 



156 NINEVEH 

The silence shivered as In tearless woe 

When they had done, the Foam-begotten 
broke 
Across his knee the sceptre and the bow : 
"The empyrean is beyond your reach, 
Your substance earth of earth, 

And ever she that called on Plato's 
name 
Bears soilure of a mortal birth 

The triple mirror are you of my 
shame 
Half-beast are two, one wholly beast, in 
each 
Is something bestial, and your wings' winds 
choke 

Within my heart the unadulterate 
flame." 

But the three Sphinxes mighty murmuring 
Thus answer made: "O Love, 
Turn thou thy wrath above. 
Where round God's throne the cosmic sunsets 
fling 
The light that shall not fade. 

Beneath his feet the countless aeons roll, 
His slow relentless purpose knows the 
goal 
Of things, and joining flesh and spirit made 
A beast the mansion of the soul.'* 



AND OTHER POEMS 157 

And lo, the spring's breath faded from Love's 
charm, 
The sunshine from his hair, 
And in his arm 

The arrows turned to rods. 

He heeded not the silent years that 

crawl 
Like uncouth spiders. Weary, cynical, 
Self-conscious, disenchanted stood he there, 
The oldest and the saddest of the gods. 



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